


call it something like aching, call it something like bliss

by pensee, vivisextion (pensee)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: A fic for everyone to appreciate everything about everyone, Anal Sex, Bladder Control, Daddy Kink, Desperation, Embrace the Dad bod, Established Daddy Kink, Following tags only for chapter 2, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal just too strong and thicc for Will to move, Hannibal lets himself go, Kink in everyday life, M/M, Married Couple, Maybe D/s dynamics if you use your imagination, Murder Husbands, No beta so probably will edit for grammar later, Post Series, Self indulgent beach setting, Tattoos, Those were some spongy cliffs okay, Will Loves Hannibal, Will likes em thicc, bed sharing, bit of ass to mouth, bit of hair pulling, d/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-08-19 21:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20216368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensee/pseuds/pensee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensee/pseuds/vivisextion
Summary: Spider-like, his fingertips skate over skin to pause at Hannibal’s jaw as he rights himself, leaning up for a kiss. His hand settles on the little bit of chub beneath Hannibal’s chin, and a little shiver passes through him, his toes curling happily in the smooth white sand beneath.“I think it’s time for lunch,” he says, voice a harsh croak, and Hannibal smiles against the corner of his mouth.“It’s not food you’re hungry for,” he observes, hand wandering low to Will’s ass, and Will sighs into his shoulder, smiles, “No.”Hannibal and Will are vacationing to attend a wedding, and it just devolves into Daddy kink and summer lovin’ from there.Edit: 08/15/19 now with chapter 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve come seeking grown ass forty-four-year-old Daddy’s boy Will, you are in the right place. 
> 
> Trying out a new pseud exclusively for thirst fic. I am normally pensee on here, for (some) fics with plot.

The girl has been unsubtly watching him for the last few hours he’s been set up on the beach, walking past every few minutes with her ass hanging out of her teeny-tiny bikini and long hair flowing in the breeze. She’d be perfectly interesting and perfectly beautiful, if Will had even been capable of looking past laugh-lines and veiny hands and a cock he was half in love with fucking into him every morning, but unfortunately for his fellow beachgoer, his attention permanently belonged to someone else.

Still, she’s not getting the hint that he’d rather watch the water than her, making a show of rearranging her towel and bending over, her breasts dangerously close to spilling out of her top, and he’s almost horrified for her at how vulnerable she’s making herself, the ugliness in his mind reminding him that there are predators in human skin constantly out looking for someone who’s such an easy target. From what he can tell, she’s here alone and not even anticipating company other than that of a stranger, and it’s a struggle for him to stop hover-parenting over a girl he hasn’t even properly spoken to when his logic points out that she’s definitely old enough to be a grown woman, not a kid.

Still, he’s had enough of curating tragedies for girls that were young enough to be his daughter for a lifetime, so he decides to steer her as far away from him as possible.

“Sun lotion?” she says, popping the cap on a bottle she retrieves from her bag, and his mouth flaps open for a few seconds before he realizes she’s inadvertently stolen the lead from him, privately irritated as she tries to be nonchalant at dragging her towel closer to the hotel-provided beach chair he’s currently reclining on.

Her accent sounds Eastern European and he nearly asks Hannibal whether he recognizes what country she’s from and if he can translate so that he can make his point a little clearer, but the blanket next to him has been empty for the past three hours, Hannibal out for a long swim around the cove to prevent him from frustratedly stabbing someone with the metal end of a nearby beach umbrella, Will is sure.

They were currently visiting a resort town in the south of France for Chiyoh’s wedding, of all things, and though time had lessened the divide between himself and Chiyoh, he hadn’t appreciated it when Hannibal had basically volunteered both of them—after they’d already agreed that Hannibal would be the only one to attend the ceremony and reception—to show up to support her.

He’d even apparently bought Will something Versace, which meant he’d been planning for Will to agree to going before they’d even talked the wedding in detail, which pissed him off even more.

Still, it was handy to have a husband who could passably speak more languages than Will had fingers for (even if he could be a manipulative dick at times), and he missed him with a twinge that wasn’t just entirely annoyance at this insistent girl when she repeats, “Lotion?” and mimes rubbing some onto her back.

“No,” he says, shaking his head, and her eyes narrow.

“Hm...please?” she asks, and he shakes his head again, eyes straying to the great turquoise stretch of water before them.

Had Hannibal really been gone that many hours? Why hadn’t he paid more attention to how far out he said he was going to swim?

“I’m—I can’t,” he says, and without anything else to add, he points to the ring on his left hand.

“I no—,” she starts, showing the first signs of embarrassment, and Will gestures to a group of younger kids—Christ, stop saying that, they’re in their twenties, Graham—gathering around a scuba instructor a little ways up the beach.

“Sorry,” she says. “I no know you,” she starts, gesturing to his wedding band, and he thinks—Didn’t know I was married? In love with a serial killing cannibal who may be the worst thing to ever happen to me? Yeah, there was a time when Will wouldn’t have believed it either.

Waving half-heartedly as she gathers her things to move, he finds himself glad this experience will probably help her think twice before approaching a tall, dark stranger in the future.

He waits until he’s sure she’s left, and then turns back to the ocean.

Since they hadn’t brought much more than sandals and towels from the hotel, Will leaves their few belongings to wade out into the water to see if he can spot Hannibal. Floating on his back for a few moments after watching the small splashes his husband’s freestyle strokes make in the distance, he blinks his eyes open not a handful of minutes later as a big shadow covers the light for a moment before Hannibal lowers himself to a kneel in the shallows by his side.

“You’re not still angry with me,” he greets, surprised at the welcoming expression on Will’s face.

“I’m not,” Will decides, his fingers floating weightlessly over to play over Hannibal’s tanned-but-somewhat sunburnt shoulders.

Spider-like, his fingertips skate over skin to pause at Hannibal’s jaw as he rights himself, leaning up for a kiss. His hand settles on the little bit of chub beneath Hannibal’s chin, and a little shiver passes through him, his toes curling happily in the smooth white sand beneath.

“I think it’s time for lunch,” he says, voice a harsh croak, and Hannibal smiles against the corner of his mouth.

“It’s not food you’re hungry for,” he observes, hand wandering low to Will’s ass, and Will sighs into his shoulder, smiles, “No.”

Hannibal had never been a particularly gluttonous eater (in total volume, at least), despite what the tabloids would have the world believe, and he’d surprised Will at the amount of food he was able to pack away while they were bouncing around Asia a year ago, sampling the local cuisine and each other.

Maybe it’d been the aftermath of some much-needed healing after their tumble from the cliff—they’d both hoarded calories during their recovery, though Will had returned to his former body shape more or less, the bit of soft curve to his stomach the only thing marking his new gourmet lifestyle. Hannibal, on the other hand, had fully embraced the somewhat-beer-gut he’d been sporting before, now a full-on belly that Will liked to feel pressing into his back whenever Hannibal fucked him into the mattress. The little trail of grey hair that led down into his pants always drove Will crazy, and Hannibal knew it, strategically dressing in trousers with just slightly distended buttons and going around brushing his teeth with that Goddamned chest hair on full show.

Hannibal wasn’t the tallest or broadest out there, and Will once remembered having to squint to call what his husband had a barrel chest, but their more recent time fucking around Europe had lent all the heavy sauces, rich wines, fresh carbs, fatty pork delicacies, and calorie laden liquors that they could ever wish for, and Hannibal had in his (newly established) typical fashion had not stopped at moderation.

Now, there was an extra pillowy layer over the muscle he’d become used to whenever Hannibal linked their arms together in public, and Will often found himself stirring at inappropriate times—once while touring an ancient cathedral in Rome—whenever and wherever Hannibal touched him.

“I would much prefer that you were paying attention, if were going to do this now, my darling,” Hannibal says, his stupidly beautiful face looking down at Will in concern. Probably wondering where the hell his mind’s gone when they were supposed to be necking like teenagers. “Perhaps you shouldn’t skip lunch after all—You look faraway.”

“Trust me, you don’t wanna know what I was thinking about, Daddy,” Will sighs, chuckling lowly as Hannibal slams him against their suite door. The name, even after all this time—something that Will pretends started with the word “please” in a prison cell, but had really begun much longer ago—always gets him riled.

“Not about the wedding,” Hannibal ventures, sounding reluctant to rock that particular boat.

“We agreed I wasn’t gonna show up, much less in anything flashy,” Will points out. It was basically an invitation to the international media and the Vergers, if they showed up at a public spectacle like a royal wedding (of course Chiyoh had to marry a lesser prince from a filthy rich country he’d never even heard of) wearing black tie hand in hand.

Then again, law enforcement thought they were dead. Even if they were still looking, they were trying to find a refined cannibal and a disgraced former profiler, not two sunburnt husbands who needed a few decent haircuts and a good shave.

Will hated to admit it how he hated to admit most things that accompanied their sex life, but he’d actually had to set a mental limit on how many times he could masturbate a day thinking about the burn on his inner thighs the week that Hannibal had first started growing a beard.

“We’ll agree to disagree,” Hannibal says, and Will rolls his eyes even as they’re attached at the mouth. Hannibal finally pushes them over the threshold a breath later, losing the room’s electronic keycard somewhere between getting Will out of his shirt and tossing his own onto an armchair in the living area.

“Just get on top of me. And. Stop. Talking. Daddy.”

He lets the last word hang in the air for a moment, watching Hannibal watch him, their chests heaving like they were that night on the cliff, andWill notices that the band Hannibal used to hold back his hair has come lose, hair wavy from the sea.

He doesn’t know which of them lunges first, only that he’s got his teeth on Hannibal’s neck and Hannibal’s own gnawing on his earlobe.

Big hands supporting his ass, Hannibal carries him blindly all the way to the bed, knocking into picture frames and tipping a vase over that Will is sure is probably one of a kind, but he can’t care beyond the fact that Hannibal’s hands are everywhere on him and that his swim shorts are tangled around his ankle.

“Off,” he growls, and rips the offending fabric away from himself, trying to reach down to untie the strings holding Hannibal’s trunks up.

“Patience,” Hannibal chides.

“Fuck patience, I want you in me,” he pants. “Like you aren’t thinking the same thing, like you weren’t watching me talk to that poor girl and wanting to show me who I belong to.”

“What girl?” Hannibal says, perhaps genuinely confused, though it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what Will’s talking about.

“Some poor misguided soul who didn’t realize I was already taken.”

“A tragedy,” Hannibal says lightly, though there is possession in the fingers that dig into Will’s ass and the back of his neck as Hannibal deposits him onto the bed.

On his back, looking up at the man who had dragged them halfway to shore before Will’s near-shattered body had caught up and helped haul them the rest of the way, he thinks—by the carelessly unkempt beard, the deep laugh lines and the generous paunch hanging over his shorts—you’d never know this was the same man who’d been the Chesapeake Ripper or Hannibal Lecter at all.

But I’m fucking glad as all hell that he is.

“Would you do me like this?” Will asks, teasing in his tone because they both know that Will usually thinks missionary is one of the more boring positions they’ve tried, though he likes to make fun of Hannibal’s intimate desire to meet his eyes while they fuck.

“Tempting boy,” Hannibal says, “You know I will.”

“Then get crackin’, Daddy,” Will hums, cock twitching a bit as Hannibal lets out a hiss and carefully frees his own erection from the confines of his swim trunks.

Will pumps himself a bit as he crawls forward to the edge of the bed—without permission because it is probably in his nature to be naughty—and laves a big ol’ lick across Hannibal’s leaking tip.

Hannibal grabs hold and suddenly jerks him back by the hair, and Will whines a bit but does as he’s supposed to for the moment, sitting back on his heels and waiting for instructions.

“Where did we leave the lube?” Hannibal asks, because he enjoys torture, and torturing Will specifically is one of his most favorite pastimes.

“Threw it behind the dresser when you had me up against the headboard. Accidentally. I think.”

“Find it,” Hannibal says, how Will would say “fetch” to their dogs back home.

Fuck you, he almost wants to say, but he also wants to be able to walk out of here without limping in the morning, so he bites his tongue.

Moving exaggeratedly, ass in full view as he slinks down to the floor, cock thick and bobbing against his thigh, Will retrieves the half empty bottle from its hiding place.

Hannibal’s not touching himself at all, just studying him, nostrils flared, and Will notices a perfect glob of precum sticky on his glans, licking his lips in anticipation of the taste.

“Here, master,” he says, standing to present the bottle, sarcasm clear in his voice, though he doesn’t miss how Hannibal tenses at the title.

Geez, how predicable was he. It was almost cute.

“William,” Hannibal warns, and Will shrugs.

“I’m not one for patience, we’ve gone over this,” he says, and Hannibal grabs him by the chin and murmurs, eyes on Will’s plumped mouth, “Take care in what you ask for, boy.”

“Always do,” Will sighs, linking his ankles behind Hannibal’s thighs as his husband rushes forward and pins him to the bed, both of them racing to open the lube, tangled fingers soon sticky with it, Will stuck on the image of Hannibal’s entire hand slick with it up to the wrist as he spreads his legs.

“Relax, we have all the time in the world,” Hannibal whispers, and Will’s throat closes around the impossibility of how much they really do.

He gasps like it’s the first time—sometimes, in rushed moments like these, it feels intense as—when Hannibal’s index and middle fingers pierce him, in an entirely different way than his blades ever could.

Will strokes the fine, steel-colored hairs on the back of Hannibal’s forearm as he adds his own first two fingers to the ones that Hannibal is plunging into his body.

This should take longer than a minute and does, but not by much because he can feel Hannibal’s gut pressing against him and those strong arms holding him still and his own greedy insides hooked on the ends of Hannibal’s fingers.

He tugs on Hannibal’s hair tie to get the rest free, and luxuriates in the feel of the soft strands as he loses his face in the crook of his Daddy’s whiskery neck.

Hannibal’s guiding his hand between them now, to jack his cock a handful of times, coating it with a more than generous amount of lube.

“Put me in, Willy,” he rumbles, and Will is halfway gone at just those words, whimpering into Hannibal’s hair as he does, bearing down and relaxing in agonizingly long seconds in turn as Hannibal just braces himself over him and lets Will awkwardly scoot his ass back onto his cock, occasionally moving his hips to get a better angle but mostly remaining still.

Will wants to think it’s because Hannibal will come if he starts thrusting how he should be for this position to work, but in reality it’s probably because Hannibal is Hannibal and he wants to see Will squirm.

Or maybe a bit of both he thinks triumphantly, Hannibal letting out a low groan as he forcefully angles his hips forward and fills Will to the brim.

“Are you gonna fuck me or just stand there?” Will taunts, like he hasn’t got his ass hanging over the edge of the bed or currently feeling his husband’s cock in his stomach. 

Still, it would be in bad form if he didn’t do something about Hannibal waiting him out to start begging, so Will reaches for him, pulling on the thick hair on Hannibal’s chest to give him something to focus on other than how much he regrets the lack of leverage this position gives him.

“Daddy, please,” he all but whines, Hannibal starting forward suddenly, and Will yelps, though the surprise trails off into a moan as he scratches blunt nails down Hannibal’s sunburnt back, Hannibal grumbling in his ear about what an impatient boy he had, an impatient, terrible, lovely thing that he could never find the willpower to resist.

There’s not much space between their bodies, Hannibal’s softness taking up every hollow against Will’s comparative boniness, But Will finds the space to run a hand along Hannibal’s chest and tweak a nipple in retaliation for being called “terrible”.

Baring his teeth, Hannibal doubles the force behind each movement of his hips, and Will gleefully repeats himself, bucking up to meet every thrust. Tugging frantically at his own cock, his eyes widen as he feels Hannibal come inside him, the sound it makes dirty and obscenely loud in the otherwise silent room.

“That didn’t last long,” he simpers, despite the more likely motivation for coming early being that Hannibal wanted to take the edge off so he could concentrate on finding a dozen more ways to fuck Will the way they both wanted.

And that’s exactly what he’s doing, Will thinks a moment later, as Hannibal pulls out his sticky, white-smeared cock and walks around the edge of the bed to occupy Will’s arousal-gaped mouth.

“Remember, all the time in the world,” Hannibal promises, and—still achingly hard and trembling for every pleasurable moment yet to be had—Will hums happily and takes the head of him into his mouth.

The next day is Chiyoh’s ceremony, and they actually find a compromise about it, as much as can be.

Will wears a Versace that Hannibal miraculously special orders in a more muted color five hours before the wedding starts, and Hannibal replaces his original choice of suit with something a little less eye-catching.

They stand at the back of the gathering, nothing more than curious tourists rubbernecking at a grand event, though he notices that Chiyoh gives them a barely-there nod as she and her new husband return to the inside of the hotel for the reception.

Almost polite, even if they couldn’t very well sign even their aliases’ names in the guestbook.

“Knew you could do it, Daddy,” Will beams, because it’s not everyday that compromise visits their household. Strolling together across a long marble walkway, they pass other guests who nod and smile blandly as if they are any other couple out for a leisure-filled day.

And for once in his life, Will feels, oddly enough, like he nearly can be that person, alongside the dark, twisted, wonderful thing that Hannibal fell in love with.

“Of course you did,” Hannibal scoffs, and Will laughs as Hannibal’s big hand lets go of his own to playfully smack him on the butt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wakes up and finds himself trapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s some cuddling and sleepy sappiness and a little expansion on the meta of this verse (including tattoos, which is imagery I’m so horny for with these two).  
This chapter is set while the husbands are back at home, wherever that is.
> 
> There is some bladder control/desperation to urinate in this chapter, so mind that please. There are NO explicit water sports in this chapter.

They have blackout curtains, but the light always manages to squeeze through somehow, and it doesn’t help that there are a dozen four-legged, furry alarm clocks downstairs looking to bound out the door at the first sign of dawn.

For these reasons, Will thinks incredulously, Hannibal should’ve been up hours ago, Will peeking outside their bedroom window to find the sun already high in the sky despite the fact that his husband is very much still dead to the world, snoring loudly and sprawled over Will like he’s a particularly coveted chew toy he couldn’t help but guard even in his sleep.

Okay, enough with the dog analogies, Will scoffs to himself, planting his arms on the bed and trying to get the leverage to lift both of them so that he can yield to the insistent call of nature now making itself known.

Hannibal’s belly unapologetically presses its weight onto his full bladder, and Will groans as his husband doesn’t so much as shift an inch to help him get out of bed.

“Hannibal,” he tries, shaking his husband’s arm. “Baby, wake up.”

Hannibal lets out a bearish grunt and blindly flings his thick forearm into Will’s face. Will grimaces at the knock on his nose, but softens at the barely-there shadow of the small tattoo on the skin near his lips. He kisses it gently, rolling his eyes as Hannibal reacts to that by curling around him even closer, trapping him in a humid coil of tangled sheets and warm limbs.

They’d both gone under the needle at a hole-in-the-wall shop in Tokyo, the constant rattle of the rail above them marking a train station nearby as the tattoo machine buzzed on. Hannibal hadn’t even looked at any of the art booklets provided, but he seemed to have known the artist—from where or how Will would probably never know—who was nothing short of enthusiastic to be working on them, even though Will was sure he knew exactly who his clients were.

An axe crossed with a knife, Will muses now, tracing the simple pattern on Hannibal’s arm, snorting to himself because neither of them would’ve ever even considered displaying something like that so blatantly on their skin before that night on the cliff. But there were some benefits to everyone thinking they were dead, after all.

Hannibal hadn’t expected Will to also get a tattoo while they were in Japan, or ever, but Will appreciated the simple band—a permanent bracelet of sorts—he’d nonetheless chosen to get on his own wrist. Came full circle, he’d thought, and the symbolism stuck in his mind. Seduced the devil, almost got eaten, but hell spit him back out in one piece, and even inexplicably decided to gift him (nearly whole) to the man he loved.

The very same man who also happened to be being a gigantic pain in his ass right now, if he kept refusing to wake up...

“Daddy, I really gotta pee, so if you could kindly get the fuck off me,” he hisses, scraping his nails along the hypersensitive skin of the healed-over brand on Hannibal’s back. Surgery and further therapy had disguised the skin as a bad burn well enough, but even though Hannibal didn’t feel pain the traditional way, he knew the reflexive shiver his body would produce at the contact was a sure-fire way to get him wide awake.

Almost there, almost—.

“Will,” Hannibal grumbles, long hair hitting Will in the face as he suddenly turns his head, sleep heavy in the lines of his face.

“That’s the second time you got me good,” Will sighs, especially glad he had closed his eyes for the last one.

“What’s wrong, Willy?”

“What’s wrong is going through half a box of condoms last night made you pass out till now, and I’m gonna piss myself if you don’t move.”

“There were only six packets left in the box, darling.”

“Get off me!” Will snaps, and Hannibal’s gaze goes from mildly and drowsily interested to predatory in no seconds flat.

“No, Willy,” he says, voice soft. Daddy always gets real mean when he talks soft like that, Will’s inner voice provides, the little sniveling snit it can be sometimes.

“Please,” Will starts early, because he’s not in the mood to have to deep-clean their mattress this morning (though honestly the thing is so soaked with come he doesn’t know if they shouldn’t just replace it entirely).

He can already see it happening—Hannibal will get off of him, but he’ll make Will lay here until the piss is practically bubbling out his ears, feet squirming, legs trembling, lips bitten red; then and only then will he tell Will that he can stumble his way to the en suite to relieve himself.

“What will you do for me, if I let you up now?”

Hannibal would never really complain, especially not to this degree, about being woken unexpectedly, but Will doesn’t know for a second whether he wants to go to the bathroom more right now or expound upon what Hannibal is asking.

Don’t be stupid, Graham—.

“I’ll take care of the dogs today, all day. Um—.”

“What else, William?” Hannibal says, and his red eyes are so bright in the half-gloom. He’s gotten off Will sometime between waking up and now, but Will’s not paying attention to anything other than his current urgency.

“I’ll make breakfast, and do all the chores you secretly hate doing and I’ll suck your cock—Jesus, Hannibal, this would’ve been fun twenty minutes ago, but just let me fucking go to the—.”

“Don’t curse at me,” Hannibal says, clicking his tongue.

Will recognizes the noise, and his whole body heats. He’s made the same sound to Karla when she jumps onto the kitchen counter to steal food from the cutting board.

“Daddy, please, let me go,” Will whimpers, and gathers the sheets in his hands; something to hold onto, something to help him through. Clenching his abdomen and inner muscles both helps and hurts, but this apology is apparently enough for Hannibal, who clicks his tongue one more time and says, “Go, then,” moving out of the way much, much quicker than his size should allow.

Will’s out of bed so fast he swears he gets whiplash.

And he should be pissed—no pun intended—that Hannibal did this to him without even physically holding him down at all, but he remembers his manners and who released him to go, so he pecks his Daddy on the cheek before racing to the bath.

“I’ll take you up on your other offers, too, William,” Hannibal reminds from the other room, and Will can’t even find it in himself to be mad at him, or at himself for letting him, no matter how much extra work he’s signed himself up for today.

Not when there’s this floaty feeling in his chest and this near-euphoric sigh at the feeling of his own relief, or Hannibal nosing behind his ear as he washes his hands at the sink, pride in his boy clear in his sharp-toothed smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as it always is with me, a complete chapter count may still mean more to come. Thanks so much to anyone who left kudos and those who asked for more in the comments.

**Author's Note:**

> So the thirst is real.
> 
> On Twitter @penseeart if you ever wanna talk Hannigram etc.


End file.
